Closed Spaces
by frizzy.writings
Summary: FE7. Matthew arrives late at night to receive one last assignment from Uther. Set just before the events of FE7, inspired by Hector's Mode.


Matthew's leather boots were soft against the ancient stone as he moved like a ripple through the darkness, peering about him before coming to a stop in front a thick wooden door. The corridor was black, the torches unlit tonight. He gave the hall another look up and down, well used to double checking the corners of his own home. You didn't stay long in his type of business without exercising some precaution.

Assured that he was alone, Matthew's rapped quietly along the door, the wood beneath his knuckles having grown soft long ago from countless late night visits and secret knocks.

"Enter."

You had to know that voice, tiredly, thoroughly, to hear the hidden strain that had wormed its way in.

Matthew knew it better than that. With one last glance down the length of the hallway, he pushed open the door, sliding in soundlessly.

Uther's study was small. He'd had all the rooms in Ostian Palace to choose from, and Uther had picked the lonely north tower to place his office in. The long black windows offered nothing in the cloudy night, the room's only light the glow from the fire place's dying embers. The shelves were overflowing with books and scrolls, the floor scattered with sheets of paper that had ripped loose, charts overlapping each other upon the walls. In the middle of it all, Uther, Marquess of Ostia, sat behind a large oaken desk with a stack of papers and a candle that had long ago melted into a puddle of wax. He looked tired.

"Ah, Matthew. Thank you for coming so late."

"Late?" Matthew grinned. "These are regular working hours for me, m'Lord."

The corner of Uther's mouth twitched, and Matthew saw the shadows that came without light.

"All the same. Take a seat," said Uther, indicating to the chair across from him.

Matthew glanced around the room. The fire was low, but there was a ready log waiting near the fireplace. The candle on his desk was long gone, but Uther was working through a fresh stack of papers. It wasn't irregular to find him working through the night, and Matthew had been called in at odd hours before. But rarely was he invited to sit. Their meetings were quick and businesslike, with Matthew darting in with just enough time to drop off a report, pass on a message from Oswin, receive an assignment. He almost never even had time to take his cloak off.

"Thank you, my Lord," said Matthew, sliding into the hard backed chair. "What can I do for you?"

"I have always appreciated your determined efficiency, Matthew. But tonight -" Matthew watched as Uther dipped beneath his desk, reappearing with two plain wooden goblets and a glass bottle full of dark colored liquid that glinted like garnet in the firelight, " - let's not rush business."

Matthew merely raised an eyebrow at the uncommon display. It was one thing to be invited to sit. It was another for Uther to put down his quill and pour him a drink.

"Thank you my Lord," Matthew murmured, taking the goblet offered to him, and raising it towards Uther. "To your health."

"A wasted toast," replied Uther, his smile wane. "To my brother, Hector, who brings us here tonight."

"To Hector, then," echoed Matthew, taking a small sip. "May he prove as a great a leader as he is terrible a gambler." The alcohol burned against the back of his throat, sending a rush of warmth through his body. He replaced the goblet on Uther's desk and settled back into his chair like a waiting cat.

"Hm. So Hector's been at cards with the soldiers again, has he?"

Matthew shrugged. "Just every other break he seems to get. They tell me he swears terribly."

Uther sighed, massaging his temple. "It doesn't even surprise me to hear that." He took another swig from his goblet. "Let us hope he does indeed to prove to be a better Marquess than gambler. It may not be long before we find out."

Matthew frowned. "My Lord, if - " He stopped at a raised hand from Uther.

"Please, Matthew. You make a business dealing in death." He smiled. "Don't insult our relationship by attempting to placate me with the same niceties you would on any other noble."

"You interrupted me. My Lord, I was going to say you look like shit."

Uther threw his head back and laughed, a harsh hollow bark that turned into an unpleasant cough.

"Drinks, small talk, and now laughter from Uther the Impassive. Tell me, my Lord, what's next - a parade?" Matthew grinned against the sharp twist in his gut. The wheeze in Uther's breath was more than he'd remembered.

"Hardly," replied Uther, taking another deep gulp from his goblet before leaning forwards in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. The look he gave Matthew was an old and familiar one. It sapped the jokes out of Matthew and put a narrowness in his eyes. This was the look that crumbled kingdoms, poisoned wine, and sharpened knives. It was time for business.

"You are aware, I believe, of Hector's plans to leave tomorrow night."

"Sent the report in myself."

Uther nodded. "Good, good." He sighed "He is as headstrong as ever."

"To put it mildly."

"Quite. He has decided, against all my advising, to abandon Ostia as we sit on the cusp of war. I shouldn't be surprised, really, my brother always been impetuous, refuses to listen to reason..."

Matthew was too professional a spy to let himself fidget or shift uncomfortably under the gaze of his lord. But when Uther talked of the young Lord Hector, not as an unpredictable variable or soon-to-be-Marquess, as he often did, but as a brother, it always left Matthew feeling oddly intrusive.

"Well, regardless, he is leaving," said Uther abruptly, as though catching himself too late. The grey beneath his eyes was growing all the more pronounced as the dying fire lengthened the shadows across his face.

"He is still loyal, my Lord," murmured Matthew.

Uther snorted. "Yes, but not to me." He shook his head, remembering himself, and that the company he kept made a living feeling out the cracks in people and digging them apart.

"You're right, Matthew. He is loyal. And that's hardly something to be mocked." He almost seemed to chuckle. "You all of all people should appreciate that."

Matthew's smile did not quite reach his eyes. "I do, my Lord."

Uther was silent a moment, his gaze steadying itself on the spy in front of him.

"I have one last job for you."

Matthew merely raised an eyebrow at the word choice.

"When Hector makes his escape tomorrow, I want you to intercept him."

"Waylay him, my Lord?"

"No. Accompany him. I have heard additional reports of an assassination attempt to take place the same night."

Matthew was instantly alert. "My Lord - "

Uther raised his hand. "I am not concerned about these hired hands. You and Hector should be fully capable in disposing of them. Do so, proclaim your loyalty to him, and accompany Hector on his mad quest to assist the young Lord Eliwood." Despite the sickness that had been moving slowly through him, Uther's voice was fierce as ever as he issued his orders to Matthew. "This is what I ask of you."

Matthew was quiet, his brow furrowed.

"My Lord...you want me, to spy on your brother?"

"Hardly. I'm not asking you to put on costumes or hide in shadows."

"What are you asking, then, exactly?"

Uther blinked slowly, his eyes never leaving Matthew's. "I don't think I can make myself any clearer. Or are you not as clever as you make yourself out to be?"

"I am quite clever, actually," replied Matthew without missing a beat. "But playing babysitter isn't my usual job."

"And it's not what I'm asking you to play." Uther was nearly glaring at Matthew now, and Matthew felt almost comforted at his Lord's blunt frustration - here, at least, was something familiar. Matthew was silent, teasing out the pause in their conversation, waiting for Uther to explain further - or else dismiss him in the abrupt manner that he was so accustomed to.

But Uther didn't dismiss him, didn't snap at him. To Matthew's shock, he leaned forwards with his head in his hands, and Matthew nearly froze at the sight. He remained silent, finding himself trapped in one of those rare moments where he was truly at a loss. Had his Lord fainted? Was he...was he crying? The silence was edging beyond 'awkward' and into 'deeply uncomfortable' when Uther straightened up, and Matthew was relieved to find him dry eyed.

"I'm not long for this world Matthew. My brother, whether he wants to or not, will soon be the Marquess of Ostia."

Matthew's face was guarded again, revealing none of the surprise he felt at Uther's words. Uther was sick, there was no disguising that from men such as Matthew. And it was a tragedy, to watch death reach slowly over Uther, taking him away piece by piece. There was no glory in illness, no battles to be won. Matthew had watched his Lord wilting. But never had he heard him speak of it so openly.

"He is not entirely unprepared. He's a practiced fighter, a confident leader, and, as you say, loyal. But..." Uther took up his goblet again, but he did not drink. "He knows everything about killing a man on the battlefield, but nothing about off of it. He has always kept himself distant from politics." Uther glanced up, and the look he gave Matthew left him feeling as though he'd been physically pinned to his chair. "He still has much to learn."

Matthew nodded, slowly, Uther's meaning taking root. His Lord seemed to be watching him differently, like he would an opponent in chess. Matthew set forth his next question delicately, knowing the fire was almost dead, their time nearly up.

"Why me?"

Uther's smile was slow to unfold. He drank from his goblet then, taking a deep draught before replacing it, now empty, on the desk in front of him.

"Intercept him," said Uther, rising from his chair and crossing to the fire place. "Fight off the assassins, pledge your service to him." He grabbed the waiting log and threw it in the fire, where it sat hissing amongst glowing embers before suddenly catching aflame. "I'm not asking you to lie"

He remained standing in front of the fire, his back to Matthew, who recognized that he was being dismissed. With the same practiced quiet that he accomplished everything with, Matthew stood and crossed over to the door of the study. It occurred to him, as he placed his hand on the doorknob, that this was likely to be the last time he would see his Lord, let alone speak with him. He paused to glance over his shoulder. Uther was still standing in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed forward. At that moment, there was nothing to the suggest the invasive weakness that had gripped his body - the tired slope of his shoulders and the quiet resolution that hung about him was only to be expected from a man who'd taken a country off a dying father's hands.

The Ostian House had a habit of passing through sickness.

Matthew left the room in silence.


End file.
